Wind Goddess

by Crystal Inman

  Sylvia took another sip of wine and tried to calm her heart. Telling men she wasn’t interested was an easy thing to do. Hell, it was rote by this time. No man ever thought to challenge her. None pushed farther than she had been willing to give. Except Tristan. And maybe now, he received the message loud and clear.

  She looked at the lovely wicker basket and told herself it had been for the best. No man could possibly be worth giving up herself for. And none would ever be.

  * * * *

  Sylvia was hard at work eight o’clock Tuesday morning on the bouquets. They had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect. Keira would be in at nine to okay the wedding colors and Sylvia hoped she could go from there and begin to make contact with the florists.

  A sharp knock on the door startled Sylvia, and she lifted her head with a growl.

  Tempest stood there in an emerald pantsuit with matching heels. Emeralds and diamonds decorated her ears, throat, and arms. She appeared, of course, stunning. It made Sylvia’s chocolate brown suit look dowdy in comparison. And her sensible brown sandals piteously lacking.

  Sylvia pushed the envy deep down and motioned her forward. “You have something for me?”

  “Yes.” Tempest moved forward and held out a thin manila folder. “If Keira decides she approves of the Irish-Celtic wedding, I have the names of several businesses capable of creating the perfect invitation.”

  “So do I.” Sylvia took the folder and put it on her desk. “Anything else?”

  Those dark blue eyes smiled down at her. “I like you, Sylvia Masters.” Tempest laughed and turned on her heel to leave.

  Sylvia’s eyes widened, and then she allowed herself a small smile. “Tempest.”

  The statuesque woman turned around. “Yes?”

  Sylvia picked up the folder and waved it. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” She waved a hand laden with emeralds and walked down the hall.

  Okay. So maybe the beautiful Amazon is useful. Sylvia chuckled at Tempest’s words. Though her judge of character is still in question.

  Liz arrived seconds later and received her assignments for the day. She stopped at the doorway and turned around. “How’s Beth?”

  “Healing, I hope.” Sylvia didn’t look up from her paperwork. Her office door shut behind Liz, and Sylvia sat back in her chair. True to his word, one of Tristan’s “people” came to retrieve the picnic basket yesterday. She half-expected Tristan, himself, to come back for it. But maybe Sylvia had made her point after all. Then why did that bother her?

  She shook off the odd thoughts and bent her head back over her desk.

  Half an hour later, Liz buzzed her that Keira had arrived. What she neglected to mention was that big brother had arrived with her.

  Keira blew through the doorway with a large smile on her face and a soft brown leather pantsuit that only a woman so young with Keira’s coloring could wear. Sylvia would look like a calf. Tristan wore a charcoal gray suit with an electric blue tie.

  Sylvia forced a smile and motioned to the two chairs opposite her desk. She glanced at Tristan. “I wasn’t aware you would be joining us this morning, Mr. Calhoun.”

  Keira grinned and smacked her brother on the arm. “Me, neither. But apparently he had some cancellations that freed up his time. Isn’t that great?” She beamed at her brother.

  “Great,” Sylvia echoed with a false smile. Just damn fantastic. She braced her spine. Either way, she would get the information she needed to continue on with the planning of Keira’s wedding.

  She could largely ignore Tristan. Sylvia glanced at his large frame seated comfortably in her chair out of the corner of her eye, and Tristan nodded politely at her. Or not. Damn it. She looked back at Keira and opened the first folder Tempest brought her.

  Sylvia slid it across her desk and motioned for Keira to open it.

  Keira’s quick intake of breath told Sylvia all she needed to know. Tristan immediately moved closer and put his arm around Keira. When Keira raised her head, there were tears in her brown eyes.

  “How did you know?”

  Sylvia passed the young woman a box of tissues and smiled gently. “Your and your brother’s jewelry, largely. The Claddagh rings. The Celtic bracelet.”

  “Oh, Tristan.” Keira raised her teary eyes to her brother. “Mom and Dad would love it. It’s absolutely perfect.” She dabbed at her eyes. “They met in Ireland, you know.” Keira sighed. “‘Love at first sight,’ Dad always said. Mom would peck his cheek and laugh. ‘For one of us,’ she always replied.”

  Tristan set his jaw. “They would have loved it, honey.” He stood quickly. “May I speak with you out in the hall, Ms. Masters?”

  “Of course.” Sylvia smothered her frown and stood. She walked out into the hallway and let Tristan close the door behind him.

  “Any more surprises?” he demanded.

  “Pardon me?” Sylvia scowled up at him. “I’m trying to plan a wedding. If Keira hadn’t liked that one, I would have offered another. And another. Until we found the perfect fit.”

  Tristan raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I’m sorry.” He looked her in the eye. “They planned on flying to Ireland the night they were killed.”

  Sylvia put a hand to her throat. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Her blue eyes darkened in sympathy. “I had no idea. We simply thought that jewelry to be an indicator of a possible preference to colors and scheme.”

  “Keira doesn’t remember.” Tristan closed his eyes. “And it probably wouldn’t matter if she did.” He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. It is perfect. Our parents took us there several times. We both loved it as much as they did.” Tristan raked his fingers through his hair again and rested his hand on his waist. “Sometimes it’s just so damn hard.”

  Sylvia put her hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him. “More than likely the entire scheme will be along the same lines. Do you want me to steer Keira away from it?”

  “No. Of course not.” Tristan smiled tightly. “It is perfect.”

  “Mr. Calhoun.” Sylvia removed her hand from his shoulder and smiled gently. “I will do everything in my power to make this wedding perfect for your sister and her groom. I know it must be hard to lose the only family you’ve had for so many years. But Keira is in love. It tends to make one lose brain cells. Her emotions are high right now. Try to understand. And just think, you’re gaining a brother-in-law. More testosterone for you.”

  Tristan chuckled. “Okay. I bow to your judgment in this matter. This is singular bowing, mind you. It might not ever happen again.”

  Sylvia chuckled and shook her head. “Perish the thought, Mr. Calhoun.” She paused and looked up at him. “You’ve done a wonderful job raising her. She’s an intelligent, caring woman.”

  “Thank you.” Tristan rubbed his hand over his face and caught the tear that almost slipped from his right eye. “I do my best.”

  They both walked back into the office and continued the meeting.

  * * * *

  Sylvia needed ice cream. It wasn’t a little niggling in her brain. It was a full-blown scream from her cerebral cortex. The meeting with Keira had gone exceptionally well. Sylvia’s own issue had been trying hard not to look at Tristan Calhoun and picturing him wrapped up in her sheets.

  What is it about the man?

  He had money. So what? So did she.

  He was extremely attractive. A fact half the East Coast could attest to. Irritating to say the least.

  Tristan Calhoun was under her skin. Sylvia didn’t like or appreciate it. The sooner he got out of her life, the better.

  Then things could finally get back to normal.

  * * * *

  The phone call pissed her off. Liz and the rest of the staff already left for the day. Sylvia picked it up on the second ring and assumed it would be business related. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Bridal Bliss. Owner, Sylvia Masters speaking.”

  “Ah. Owner
Sylvia Masters. Come have dinner with me this evening.” The voice deep and persuasive in her ear.

  Sylvia tapped her pen impatiently against the paper pad she had been making notes on. “No, Mr. Calhoun. I have plans this evening. Thank you for thinking of me. Have a pleasant evening.”

  “Wait a second.”

  Sylvia paused in the middle of hanging up and brought the phone back up to her ear. “Yes, Mr. Calhoun?”

  “We could make it a business meeting.”

  Sylvia arched an eyebrow. “I conduct my business in my office, Mr. Calhoun. Good evening.” She hung up the phone and rolled her eyes. Persistent. Irritatingly so. Sylvia threw her pen down and leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  Part of her had been extremely tempted to throw caution to the wind and let events unfold as they may. And if that ended with her and Tristan naked and sweaty in the sheets, so be it. But then self-preservation kicked in. What good is a businesswoman who sleeps with clients? Her hard won credibility would be lost when she became the plaything of billionaire magnate, Tristan Calhoun.

  Chapter 3

  Sylvia rolled out of bed the next day and yawned hugely. She had an extremely hard time falling asleep last night. Tossing and turning was not conducive to a productive day at work.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  She stripped her tank top and boxers off and threw them into the hamper. What kind of power did Tristan Calhoun have that he affected her whether they were in the same room or not? Wasn’t right. Not a bit.

  Sylvia stepped underneath the stinging hot water and closed her eyes. She didn’t second-guess herself. It never helped. Then why did she suddenly wonder if she’d made the right decision yesterday?

  The water woke her up marginally, and Sylvia stepped out and wrapped a plush blue towel around herself. She glanced at the clock. Plenty of time to catch the morning news and brew a pot of coffee before she dressed.

  Maybe even time for a couple of pieces of toast.

  Sylvia clicked the television on and popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. Her ebony hair dripped a bit down her shoulders as she propped her hip against the counter and waited for her breakfast to finish toasting.

  Then her appetite left her.

  Sylvia turned the volume of the television up. A local reporter caught Tristan Calhoun with a stunning blond on his arm at an art gallery opening last night. He answered questions while the blond simpered and hung on every word. Sylvia shook her head. The blond couldn’t have been more than twenty with breasts that threatened to pop out of her tight gold sheath. It cut low in the front. The better to show off her surgery-enhanced assets. And the damn piece of fabric barely covers the girl’s ass cheeks.

  Sylvia looked down at her small breasts and frowned. No way in hell would she compare herself to the Barbie on Tristan’s arm.

  “Bastard,” she muttered and yanked her two cold pieces of toast from the toaster. Sylvia threw them in the trash and poured herself the first cup of coffee for the day. Obviously she had been right about Tristan.

  A cold comfort.

  * * * *

  Sylvia dressed in a red pantsuit and painted her lips a nice crimson color that fairly shouted, Don’t fuck with me!

  By God, she was hell on wheels today. How she ever let Tristan cross her mind to begin with beyond her.

  Sylvia opened Bridal Bliss and took her accounting books to her office. A little number crunching always made her feel better.

  Everyone on the staff had their collective assignments. She shouldn’t have to troubleshoot anything today. Smooth sailing.

  She heard the door open. It didn’t break her concentration. Sylvia tallied numbers and made sure every line measured up properly. Then her spine stiffened as she recognized the smell of Tristan’s cologne.

  Tristan watched her in silence for a moment. “How much did you net last year?”

  “Three point two million.” Sylvia’s capable hands worked the calculator while her eyes trailed over every figure.

  “A tidy sum,” he commented.

  “I thought so.” Sylvia never lifted her head.

  “And you vacationed in…” He let the sentence trail off expectantly.

  Sylvia lifted her head with a snap, and her blue eyes pierced him. “I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  Her hands stilled immediately. “Mr. Calhoun. I don’t believe my personal time is any of your damn business.” She smiled and showed all her teeth. “So kindly get the hell out of my office.”

  Instead of following her edict, the infuriating man simply sat in the plush gray chair on the other side of her desk and steepled his fingers. His brown eyes never left hers. “You seem like an intelligent woman.”

  The irritating, arrogant son of a bitch. “Mr. Calhoun.” The ice in her words had the power to make a man’s blood run cold. “Get the hell out of my office before I have you removed.”

  “It’s Tristan,” he reminded her absently. “You’re used to getting your own way, aren’t you?” The words were mild, but Tristan’s light brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  “This is not twenty questions, Mr. Calhoun.” Sylvia stood and smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles in her red pantsuit. “I’m not playing this game with you.” He opened his mouth, and she continued. “Or any other game, for that matter.”

  Sylvia walked to the side of her desk and stood there. “I’m planning your sister’s wedding. You’re paying for it. The only thing I want to see of you is your name on the bottom of a check. Understood?”

  Tristan stood also and moved forward until only a foot separated them. Sylvia braced her feet and stood her ground.

  “I understand a lot of things, Ms. Masters. Some of which I doubt you understand yourself.” Tristan leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “You’ll have my name on the bottom of the checks, Sylvia. But I’m afraid you’ll be seeing a bit more of me than you originally anticipated.” His voice dropped another notch. “You see, I plan on being a deciding factor in all facets of this wedding.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Tristan studied her coolly. “But seeing as how our parents have passed, I am the one responsible for making sure Keira has the dream wedding she deserves. And since I don’t plan to marry myself, this will be all the wedded bliss I need ever experience.”

  “Too busy screwing the flavor of the month?” Sylvia let the words spill out with venom dripping from every syllable.

  “Careful, Ms. Masters,” Tristan purred. “One would think you gave a damn.” He turned around and walked toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and then turned back around. “And just so you’re aware…” he paused, “I don’t have a flavor for this month…yet.” Those wolf eyes darkened and pinned her. “But I believe you would be worth a taste.” The door snapped shut behind him.

  Did that conceited ass of a man call me tasty? Sylvia scowled. Next time they met, she would be sure to hand him his balls so he didn’t mistake the nature of their relationship. Men like him were a dime a dozen. Money to blow through and women to go through. Sylvia rolled her eyes. She’d rather jab herself in the eye with her letter opener.

  Liz opened the door with her trusty notebook in hand and studied her. “Good meeting?”

  So that’s what the asshole told my assistant to get to me.

  “Great meeting.” Sylvia smiled serenely. “Though next time, have Mr. Calhoun wait in the lobby until I call for him.”

  “No problem, Ms. Masters.” Liz thumbed through her notebook. “Our pearl supplier is on line one. He says he’s going to be twenty short for the Jackson wedding.”

  Sylvia arched an eyebrow and glanced down at her phone. “Thanks, Liz. I’ll be busy the rest of the afternoon.”

  Liz nodded her head and shut the door behind her.

  Sylvia sat behind her desk and picked up the phone. She may not be able to verbally decimate Mr. Calhoun anytime soon. B
ut she would be damned if she let another individual have the last word. She clicked line one and put the phone to her ear. Before the man could utter a word, she spoke.

  “You’ve got two options, Harry. You either find another twenty buttons, or I’ll make sure that none of your pearls decorate another wedding gown in this century.” Sylvia let the man talk for about five seconds before she interrupted him. “Have them shipped priority mail. I have a seamstress on call.” She hung up the phone in the middle of his sentence. Now. Isn’t that better?

  * * * *

  Sylvia’s eyes began to cross on the third notebook of numbers. No small surprise there. She sat back in her chair and laced her fingers behind her head. The exchange between herself and Tristan ran through her head. Obviously the rules had changed for him. She had now become a challenge. A simple woman who would leap into his bed and carve her name on his bedpost.

  Her mouth tightened.

  Someone knocked on her door, and Sylvia braced herself.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Tempest strolled in. She wore all black today. The black silk shirt and pencil skirt accented the long fluid lines of the woman in front of her. Her hair pulled back into a sophisticated chignon while bits of onyx decorated her lobes and throat.

  “Do you have a stylist?” Sylvia asked before Tempest could utter a word.

  Tempest smiled. “I do not. But I’m flattered you think I do.”

  “You don’t need to work, do you?” Sylvia studied the woman in front of her. “Not financially, I mean.”

  “No.” Tempest’s lips curved into a small smile.

  Sylvia nodded. “Neither do I. In fact, I’m sure my parents preferred I didn’t.” She rubbed her temple. “They wanted me to be a diplomat.”

  Tempest coughed delicately, and Sylvia chuckled.

  “That’s what I thought of the idea.” She paused. “I wanted to build something exclusively mine.”

  “And you have.” Tempest walked forward and motioned around the office. “This is yours. All this. Plus your employees and all the couples that you helped to make their weddings exquisite and memorable.” She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “Why weddings, Sylvia?”